Moody and blue….

“The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow. And the storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing dear can move me; I will not, cannot go.” – Emily Bronte, Spellbound

The “blahs” have hit, full-force; not just in my boring life but in the lives of almost everyone I come into contact with of late.  Maybe it’s the smothering cold blanket of Winter or our own little demons of unhappiness jabbing us at every turn.

Friends dealing with their own issues of depression are trying to cope in the best ways possible; others just seem to be throwing their hands up in complete surrender to the Gods of Discontent.

I don’t have any pearls of wisdom to share, no helpful insight that will grab hold and make everyone’s “blues” just disappear; wish I did have such enpowerment.  Hell, I can’t even climb out of my own writhing snake pit of anger, frustration and disgust with life, of late, in general.

Through blogging, we attempt to be funny even when it’s the last thing we feel like pounding into our keyboard before we hit that “publish” button.  Some understand, others sit back and criticize.  Well, tough toenails to everyone who wants to read only about white lace, promises and everything perfect…and unreal; life doesn’t work that way.

In defense of a friend and outstanding blogger, I feel the need to lash out at anyone who can sit back and hurl their mundane opinions regarding someone “not being funny” on a given day.  Grow the eff up, will you?  Every picture that someone paints through their writings isn’t always going to skirt the issues of real life and leave you with a warm, snuggly feeling inside.  Respect those who don’t hold back and share the down side of their existence and possibly learn something about the humans who dwell behind these blogs.  If you can’t do that…feel free to take that proverbial hike down some yellow brick road.

Nuff said……

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Jennifer Juniper

 

Jennifer Juniper lives upon the hill,
Jennifer Juniper, sitting very still.
Is she sleeping ? I don’t think so.
Is she breathing ? Yes, very low.
Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love ?

Two seeds were planted early in the 1970’s.  One was the name Jennifer, deeply embedded in my husband’s mind after we went to see Summer of ’42 starring Jennifer O’Neill. 
The second seed?  Well, that turned out to be our own Jennifer, born that year, early one winter morning.

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It was a cold, half-snowy, mostly slushy Friday when I awoke to labor pains that were hard to ignore and rumbling in at about three minutes apart.  A quick call to the doctor and we left in a frantic rush for the hospital.  Upon arriving, I was quickly ushered away to one of the labor rooms as my spouse made a dash for the cafeteria. 
Actually, it was more like an escape. 
Natural Childbirth wasn’t an option back then, at least not in our hospital, and husbands were kept at bay…or in the cafeteria. 
Nope, it was roll them in, dope them up and get that baby delivered.
 
                                     

                                                                     

Years later, my husband still moans about the big breakfast he wasn’t able to enjoy, cursing the hospital staff every time he talks about it.  He still recalls that as I departed for the labor room that morning, one of the nurses told him it will probably be hours before anything happens, so go eat, relax, we’ll call for you when your baby arrives.  And, on that note, he stopped to make a few phone calls, go to the little boy’s room and then the cafeteria where he ordered 4 eggs over easy, bacon, toast, juice and coffee…just to tide him over and help keep up his strength, of course.
 
The very moment that the breakfast of champions was set down in front of his starving gaze, the call came through for the new daddy to head back to the delivery area to meet his first born child.  Focusing through drug-induced foggy eyes, I looked up to see my husband standing by my bed and he was mumbling something about Jennifer being here.
 
Jennifer? 
 
As he got to see her first, that right was assumed, as lord and master of his kingdom, to immediately bestow a name upon her.  Of course, I then had to endure the heartbreaking tale of his missed breakfast because those &*#%* nurses obviously didn’t realize that his daughter was in a hurry to be born.  His sob story about food deprivation was the next, most important, issue on his agenda that day.
 
I grabbed hold of my mental violin and started playing.
 
But, Jennifer had indeed arrived and the name fit her perfectly.  Her father even had a favorite Donovan song that he loved singing to her, one that would become the song they danced to at her wedding years later.
 

Today, I celebrate my oldest daughter and all that she has become; a wonderful wife, loving mother, dedicated high school Principal and presently, COVID Commander for her school district in Florida.  I am beyond proud of her accomplishments, as I am with all my children. 

Someday, I’ll share stories of… Jen, the Great Toyota Arsonist, Jen the Hapless Horseback Rider and Jen’s Magnificent Christmas Tree Caper.

For now, I’ll just wish her the Happiest of Birthdays!!

Jen-shades        

Jennifer Juniper, rides a dappled mare,
Jennifer Juniper, lilacs in her hair.
Is she dreaming ? Yes, I think so.
Is she pretty ? Yes, ever so.
Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love ?
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Silent, Smiley Sunday!

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